


Capriccio

by s0mmerspr0ssen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dubious Consent, M/M, Master/Slave, Sexual Slavery, Sherlock's Violin, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0mmerspr0ssen/pseuds/s0mmerspr0ssen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock plays his violin when thinking, but today the music is just not enough. Maybe his slave can provide some much-needed stimulation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capriccio

**Author's Note:**

> As always, the wonderful [kholly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kholly) helped with grammar and other issues. Thanks so much!

Sherlock needs to think.

Usually, for him, that's not a difficult task at all. If anything, _not thinking_ would create a much bigger problem for one Sherlock Holmes and his high-functioning brain.

But this case - this case is _good_. Very good, actually, and for some reason, Sherlock is in need of some _proper_ stimulation in order to be able to make the right connections and solve the case. Sinking down into his favourite armchair, Sherlock leans back until his head rests comfortably on top of the backrest.

More or less staring up at the ceiling, fingers steepled together by his chin, Sherlock stretches his legs out and perks up his ears for the familiar noise of muffled footsteps. He hears them somewhere upstairs.

"John!" he calls.

His call is loud enough so that it can be easily heard upstairs. Listening again, Sherlock deduces that the sound of footsteps is coming from the bathroom where, according to the noise, John is currently doing _something_ that involves lots of pacing. Probably cleaning or tidying of some kind, then.

Sherlock can hear the footsteps come to a sudden halt as his voice rings through the flat, then grow louder as John turns and rushes downstairs. Sherlock smiles, satisfied.

John is so very eager to please him, it's _fascinating_. Sherlock had never much cared for the idea of having someone like John in the flat until Mycroft had showed up one day, telling Sherlock he needed to start taking proper care of himself and that, if he were unable to do so on his own, some help would probably be for the best.

One of the floorboards in the hallway creaks and there's movement in the corner of Sherlock's field of vision. John's gotten very quick on his feet ever since Sherlock has taken care of that unfortunate limp of his.

"Master?"

Oh, the _sound_ of it. Even after four months of having John by his side, Sherlock has yet to tire of that wonderfully submissive tone of voice, so soft and so _eager_. Just like a proper little slave should sound like.

"Fetch me my violin," Sherlock orders lazily.

He has worked out quickly that John responds best to Sherlock treating their unequal relationship with an air of self-evidence. Any kind of hesitation or doubt on Sherlock's part will unsettle the slave. And if unsettled, John tends to get anxious and reluctant. Sherlock doesn't like that.

Sherlock has also learned that barking or snapping orders will turn John into a stoic, inefficient slave. It reminds John of his time in the army, where slaves are treated like scum. Helpful and indispensable scum, but scum nonetheless. Sherlock doesn't think very highly of abusing one's slave. Their willing submission and affection is so much more _pleasing_ than seeing them struggle with their fate.

"Of course, Master."

The violin case is only on the other side of the living room and John moves determinedly, knowing exactly where to find it, of course. After all, it was John who has tidied the flat and brought some kind of system into the chaos.

Slaves, Sherlock has learned, function better in environments with clearly outlined structures. It makes them feel safe. John is no exception to that rule, so Sherlock had let him.

He shifts in his seat so that he no longer faces the ceiling, but can watch John attending to his duties instead. Metal collar flashing briefly in the sunlight filtering through the curtains, John bows down to retrieve the violin case from one of the lower shelves of the cupboard. Sherlock enjoys the view of John's fitted trousers perfectly accentuating his behind as he lifts the case up, and fondly thinks back to their activities of last night.

It's not unusual that owners will maintain a sexual relationship with their slaves. Quite often, slaves will be purchased just for that very purpose. Sherlock has met many married couples who, while thoroughly devoted to each other, have sex with their slaves on a regular basis. Jealousy happens, but ultimately, slaves are just slaves.

Sherlock has never been much into _proper_ relationships. All those tedious emotions and social norms, all the effort that must be put into maintaining the relationship when in the end, the benefits don't even remotely make up for it.

Sherlock prefers what he has with John. His slave will never be able to leave or snub him just because Sherlock has ignored him for a week or two while focusing on his work. Quite on the contrary: not paying attention to John will make the slave all the more eager and desperate for Sherlock's attention.

It's perfect, really. Sherlock doesn't understand why others even bother with _real_ people when they could have a willing slave at home.

By now, John has placed the case on the coffee table, opened it and taken out the violin. Carefully carrying it with both hands, John wordlessly offers it to Sherlock, head ever so slightly bowed, but attentive eyes focused on Sherlock, ready to react to any kind of verbal or physical clue on the part of his master.

 _Beautiful_ , really. Sherlock wonders if he will ever cease being fascinated by it.

He accepts the instrument and props it up by his chin, idly pulling at the strings to create a few, sharp sounds. He doesn't miss John's excited little smile as he hands Sherlock the bow. It had taken him a few days, but eventually, Sherlock had realised that John _likes_ hearing him play. Sometimes, when Sherlock feels like rewarding John, he will play while John is cleaning or preparing their food. Twice, Sherlock has even played his slave to sleep - simply because he could.

Connecting the stretched hairs of his bow with the strings, Sherlock refocuses on the matter at hand: his case. He starts playing, a slow and easily flowing melody to get his brain working.

Only in the very back of his mind he notices John moving away, probably to go back upstairs as if not to disturb his master. Suddenly feeling like having John close-by while thinking, Sherlock stops playing and turns his head to catch John's eyes.

The slave, hearing that Sherlock has stopped so soon, turns with a questioning gaze and meets Sherlock's eyes.

"Stay," is all Sherlock says and John nods, immediately returning to Sherlock's side.

He doesn't have to be told to kneel down next to the armchair. By now, John is perfectly attuned to Sherlock's wishes, preferences and expectations. John also doesn't have to ask permission to rest his forehead on Sherlock thigh. John knows that Sherlock doesn't mind, especially as it tends to calm his slave down and helps him relax.

Sometimes, Sherlock thinks they live in perfect symbiosis.

Feeling oddly at ease, Sherlock resumes playing and lets the clues of the case pass by his inner eye. It's all _there_ , but somehow, Sherlock is unable to see how the facts are linked. He draws up everything he has noticed, everything he has worked out so far, but it doesn't help.

Sherlock is stuck.

The tune he plays becomes shrill and frustrated and Sherlock can feel John shift against his leg, clearly picking up on it.

A thought suddenly crosses Sherlock mind. He smirks. His music isn't stimulation enough, clearly. Maybe he needs to take it up a notch?

"John," he speaks up, lowering the volume of his play and purposely turning the melody soft and seductive. "I think, I'd like your pretty mouth around my cock right now."

He watches John lift his head, surprise evident on his face. Sherlock has never ordered John to do any kind of sexual service while he had been playing the violin. It's a first. The thought excites Sherlock and promptly, his cock stirs in anticipation.

It's an experiment. John might turn out to be a distraction instead of a stimulant, but it's worth a try, at any rate.

John hesitates unusually long. In fact, he hasn't taken this long to follow a direct order in months. Sherlock easily forgives the slip-up. He has surprised his slave, maybe even unsettled him a bit with the unusual request. Slaves get used to certain rules and habits and changing something so suddenly tends to make them nervous, maybe even insecure.

But Sherlock wouldn't be so pleased and happy with his slave if John didn't take new challenges in his stride. Blinking his surprise away, John nods and moves, swiftly crawling in between Sherlock's legs instead of bothering to stand up.

Parting his legs properly in order to grant his slave access, Sherlock's tune picks up on speed and he starts playing in earnest again. John, obviously still paying perfect attention to the music, speeds up his movements in accordance with the tempo of the tune. Sherlock's smirk widens into a pleased smile.

John is careful but efficient as he opens Sherlock's fly and peels away the fabric, sliding the tailored trousers down as much as it is possible in the position Sherlock is in. Then, he slips his fingers inside of Sherlock's pants to get a hold of the slowly hardening cock.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock keeps playing and thinks about his clues.

He's pleasantly surprised that the first, tentative lick John draws over the glans of his cock isn't as distracting as he had thought it would be. He's perfectly aware of what John is doing, but it doesn't keep him from playing his instrument _and_ thinking.

It's perfect, really.

Quickly gaining confidence, John gives Sherlock's length one long, worshipping lick before he carefully takes the head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth. John has done this often enough to know exactly what Sherlock likes and doesn't like. He starts sucking, carefully at first and obviously taking care not to scrape his teeth over any part of Sherlock's cock - Sherlock doesn't like that at all. Instead, he swallows Sherlock's erection bit by bit, sucking and licking the bottom in turn.

Sherlock can't see, eyes still closed and half of his mind focused on blood patterns and alibis, but he _knows_ what John's face must look like, lips stretched around Sherlock's cock, cheeks slightly hollowed and eyes glittering eagerly.

Soon, Sherlock is fully hard and leaking, and John starts moving his head back and forth, creating wonderfully even friction for his master. John knows the exact amount of pressure he has to apply with his lips to give Sherlock the highest enjoyment and Sherlock can feel John's lips vibrate against his erection as the slave suppresses a moan, probably afraid to disturb Sherlock with his own sounds of pleasure.

Sherlock, however, has no such inhibitions.

Pleased little noises slip past his lips and drown in the sound of the violin. By now, the melody is low, rising and falling in the rhythm of John's movements. It's the perfect unity of music and sexual pleasure and Sherlock's thoughts suddenly start to sharpen as slowly but surely, he comes closer and closer to his climax.

He starts moving his hips a bit, meeting John's warm and eager mouth with subtle thrusts. His thinking processes are up to full speed now, clues and facts clicking into place with each passing second.

Finally, his slave has relaxed his mouth enough so that he can swallow Sherlock's cock properly and Sherlock moans in unison with his violin as the tip of his erection brushes against the inside of John's throat.

Sherlock is close now: close to his orgasm and close to solving his puzzle and his hands and fingers move quickly, almost frantically, as the notes he is playing climb up an octave, quickly ascending to the highest tone possible. Sherlock is gasping by now, eyes still closed, and he can feel his cheeks flush in pleasure and the rush of solving a mystery.

John draws back, lips nearly losing all contact with Sherlock's cock and when he moves forward again, once more engulfing Sherlock's erection in moist heat, realisation dawns as Sherlock hits his climax. The ribbon of his bow slides off the violin strings with a high, almost screeching sound as Sherlock opens his eyes, resting his elbows left and right on the armrests. John's mouth is still wrapped tightly around his cock as he swallows Sherlock's seed.

Oh, so very _easy_ , so very _obvious_. How could he have not seen the connection between the four victims before?

"The daughters!" he gasps, almost laughing at his own stupidity. "Of course!"

He gazes down at John who is looking up at him questioningly, unconsciously running his tongue over his lips as his mouth leaves Sherlock's cock. No doubt, John is confused about his master's sudden outburst. Sherlock only smiles at him, carelessly dropping the violin bow to the floor in favour of running a fond hand through John's short hair. The slave's eyes closed briefly as he enjoys the gentle caress and silent praise.

"Perfect," Sherlock murmurs and after a few seconds of calming his breath, John carefully sets Sherlock's clothes to rights.

Carefully setting down his instrument on the other side of the armchair, Sherlock slides a hand into his shirt's breast pocket to retrieve his phone and text DI Lestrade. The other hand, Sherlock curls around the back of his slave's neck to pull him close, allowing John to once more rest his forehead on Sherlock's thigh, this time on the inside. Just as before, John almost melts against Sherlock's legs as he relaxes.

Typing the message out one-handendly, Sherlock brushes his thumb over the collar around John's neck, knowing that his slave enjoys the gentle reminder to whom he belongs. Another one of those gestures that make slaves feel safe, Sherlock knows.

Finally slipping his phone back into the pocket, Sherlock carefully gets up, gently tugging at John's collar, beckoning him to follow along. As John comes to stand, Sherlock hugs him close, pressing a rough kiss into John's hair. A soft sigh escapes his slave's lips.

"That was new," he whispers into Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock doesn't even really care that John forgets to address Sherlock properly. After all, John has just proven vital to solving a case. How could Sherlock be upset with him over such a small formality?

"It was."

He pulls away, roughly cupping his slave's cheeks with both of his hands and by the way John blushes and only hesitantly meets his master's eyes, Sherlock knows John has belatedly noticed his mistake. Sherlock accepts the silent apology.

"Pack up the violin," he orders, maybe a tad harsher than he normally would and John smiles, probably knowing he's already forgiven, "And don't forget to finish your business upstairs. When you're done, you may undress and wait in the bedroom."

Sherlock lets go of John's face who nods, eyes gleaming with excitement at the promise, and steps away to get started on his given tasks. Sherlock doesn't miss the bulge at the front of John's trousers and smirks, turning towards the kitchen to get a drink. Left hip propped up against the counter, a glass of water in his hand, Sherlock watches his slave picking up the instrument and putting it away.

 _Successful experiment_ , he muses and smirks, thinking of all the ways he could use this newly discovered level of stimulation and clarity of thought in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry to say that, contrary to my original plans, there won't be more fic in this verse. Very sorry!


End file.
